


The Case of the Jerks Who Came Back to Town

by mrdcoolblue



Series: McCall Stilinski Paranormal Investigators [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Mild torture, Monster of the Week, Private Investigators, Protective Jackson, Stackson Brotp, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrdcoolblue/pseuds/mrdcoolblue
Summary: McCall Stilinski Paranormal InvestigatorsCall MSPI for your paranormal needs:- Pack mediation and territory disputes- Protection wards and charms- Scent tracking and locating- Evil creature consultations- A true alpha to officiate your weddingWe’ve got a whole network of supernatural consultants. Zombie-wolf uncles need not apply.. . .Jackson and Ethan had really picked a weird time to visit Beacon Hills. A lot of the pack had scattered after graduation, but Stiles and Scott decided to put the work they did constantly saving the town into good use and started their own private detective business.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles barely managed to vault over the windowsill and out into daylight. It got shaky for a moment when his foot kicked a stray piece of garbage, but he stuck the landing and started to sprint through the alley, wishing someone had been around to catch his badass escape on camera.

He wanted to crow his success, but the sound of glass shattering reminded him that he wasn’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. He pumped his long legs faster, sneakers hitting pavement, praying to all that was holy that the creature he could hear huffing and puffing behind him wasn’t faster than it looked.

He spared a glance backwards to see the creature right on his trail. Curse Scott and his inevitable tardiness. If he survives this, he’s going to have to sit him down and lecture him about sending texts when you’re going to blow off snooping on dangerous creatures.

“Get over here, you little bug,” the creature called after him.

Stiles, using all his concentration to keep oxygen flowing through his lungs, refused to answer. Escaping through the alley had been a mistake. It was a straight shot of long pavement before he could exit, and he knew that between him and a supernatural creature, there’s no way he was going to win with stamina.

But he did know that with the creature’s bulk and low center of gravity, he could round a corner much faster and hopefully lose the thing before it caught him. He saw his first opportunity to turn out of the alley coming up, and he put on another burst of speed. Once he turned the corner, he could map out a wounding path until he could doubleback to his Jeep and lose it for good. After that, it’ll be Scott’s turn to handle it. Dude definitely owes him one now.

Just as Stiles started to round the dumpster that marked his chance to escape, his sneaker landed on something slick, and Stiles found himself sliding. He lost his balance and skidded face first into a pile of garbage.

He groaned. Today really was not his day.

Before Stiles could find his feet again, strong arms grabbed him and shoved his back into the side of the dumpster with a hollow gong. All the air was knocked out of his lungs as he was held there, wheezing and gasping.

“Little punk! I’ll teach a puny human to mess with me.”

“Hey,” someone called from the other end of the alley. “I personally know that Stilinski is a pain in the ass, but why don’t you pick on somebody your own—what the hell?”

Stiles’s rescuer stepped forward into view, and when Stiles recognized him, he rolled his eyes and allowed his head to knock back into the dumpster. “Well kill me now, because I’m never living this down,” he grumbled.

Despite having his ass planted firmly on the ground, the creature currently pressing him against the dumpster stood exactly at eye level. It was stocky, ugly, and unfortunately less than four feet tall. 

And here was Jackson McLizardface Whittemore himself looking like he was about to piss himself if he held the laughter in much longer. “Is that a gremlin?” He could barely contain his snort of derision. 

“Lesser troll, actually,” Stiles shot back amid the offended gasp of the creature in question. “Nasty temper, deceptively strong, and,” he pulled a hand from his hoodie pocket and blew some dust in the troll’s face, “has officially had his squatter’s rights revoked.” The creature’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, and it fell over unconscious into a pile of garbage.

Stiles stood up and brushed some trash off his clothes. “And now Mrs. Fink won’t have to worry about this thing taking over her attic anymore. Now what’re you doing here, Jackson? I thought you were all  _ American Werewolf in London _ nowadays.”

Jackson snorted. “Well that was almost a thank you, I guess.”

Stiles knelt down to inspect the small troll. “I totally had it handled, thanks to my careful preparation. A couple ground herbs, a simple incantation, ba-da bing, and we’re ready to send the little guy off into a more appropriate environment, namely not in the middle of town.” He attempted to tug at the squat creature’s limbs but was unable to move it much. “Easy really,” he said, panting and heaving. “Just got to get the heavy bastard to the Preserve.”

Jackson crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Need some help?”

“Not from your smug-ass face. Damn, what do these things eat, dumbbells?”

Stiles’s struggles were interrupted when Scott leaped over the fence and landed in the alley, followed soon after by Ethan. “Stiles! Sorry I was late. Some lady brought kittens into the clinic and just left them there, and then I ran into . . . Jackson, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Scott, right,” Ethan said, hurrying over to stand at Jackson’s side. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. We actually came into town together.”

Scott looked between the two of them. “Like  _ together _ together?” 

Jackson smirked and put a possessive arm around Ethan’s waist. “Whatever meaning of the word ‘together’ you were thinking, it’s probably that one.”

“No worries, Scotty,” Stiles droned as he continued to tug at the unconscious troll. “Just took down this troll all by myself. Why don’t I clean up too while I’m at it.”

“Oh shoot, Stiles,” Scott said. He lifted the troll into his arms like it was a sack of flour. “Why did you go on without me? Were you hurt? Is that why Jackson’s here?”

“Just a minor case of manhandling. No more than the usual bruises,” Stiles quipped. “Pretty boy over here hasn’t even lifted a finger yet.”

Jackson scowled and stepped forward, but Ethan held a gentle hand to his shoulder. “What, you two losers start babysitting now?”

“More like super important supernatural threat eradication,” Stiles shot back.

“So pest control?” Ethan said.

“Mrs. Fink’s an old lady who lives down the street,” Scott explained. “This little guy moved into her attic and started claiming it as his territory.”

“Made the neighbors really mad with his gross little troll habits,” Stiles added.

“Man, you guys really are Boy Scouts,” Jackson drawled.

“Shut up, it’s a legal transaction through our side business,” Stiles said.

“And now you’re making us sound like gigolos,” Scott said. “We young men provide a service to people in need of special relief . . .”

Jackson started choking.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dude, come on,” he whined. “Just show them the website.”

“Oh right.” Scott sheepishly pulled his phone, typed something into the internet browser, and handed it over.

Ethan took it and started reading, with Jackson peering over his shoulder. “Seriously? This is a thing?”

_ McCall Stilinski Paranormal Investigators _

_ Call MSPI for your paranormal needs: _

_ \- Pack mediation and territory disputes _

_ \- Protection wards and charms _

_ \- Scent tracking and locating _

_ \- Evil creature consultations _

_ \- A true alpha to officiate your wedding _

_ We’ve got a whole network of supernatural consultants. Zombie-wolf uncles need not apply. _

As they finished reading, Ethan and Jackson stood in stunned silence for several moments before Jackson ruined it with a loud snort. Then, as if the flood gates had been opened, he started giggling maniacally. 

Ethan, taking that as their cue to leave, started leading his boyfriend away from the scene. “Well it was nice catching up with you two. Glad Stiles isn’t dead.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet,” Stiles said sincerely.

“Since you’re in town, we’ll see you at tonight’s pack night, right?” Scott asked.

Jackson was breathing too hard through the tears and laughter to reply, so Ethan took the reins. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Same time as usual,” Scott replied. “See you at the loft.”

As Ethan and Jackson walked away, Jackson finally managed to get full breaths again. “God, get me away from these losers before I pass out. Paranormal investigators, fucking hell.”

Stiles shot a rude face at their retreating forms. “Yeah, it’s great seeing old friends. Really forgot Jackson’s special brand of charm.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Scott said. “Let’s get this little guy set up with a new home in the woods now,” he said, lightly patting the sleeping form in his arms. And for a moment it looked like he was cradling the world’s ugliest toddler. 

And the two of them headed over to Stiles’s waiting Jeep.

* * *

Jackson and Ethan had really picked a weird time to visit Beacon Hills. A lot of the pack had scattered after graduation, but some of the core members were still around. Scott and Stiles, resident alpha and nosy right hand respectively, had opted to attend university near town. The commute sucked—they probably spent as much on gas as they did rent—but Scott got to keep his part-time job at Deaton’s and Stiles got to keep a close eye on his dad. 

Derek still kept a brooding eye over the town; he was pretty much a permanent fixture, helping Scott run the pack, hosting pack nights, working on relationships with surrounding territories, and generally being everyone’s favorite doomsayer. He kept close to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, although the three of them decided to get their own place. Isaac took classes at a local community college, and Erica and Boyd worked a variety of part-time jobs. Peter, of course, usually kept to himself and came and went like a self-satisfied cat that sometimes lounged around lazily on your porch and sometimes looked like it was plotting your demise.

Except for “the kids” who were still in high school, everyone else had quit Beacon Hills. Allison and Chris were doing some father-daughter hunter training. They generally moved around a lot, sometimes traveling to other towns in need of help, and maybe sometimes studying the Argent legacy in France? Stiles wasn’t always able to keep tabs on them. Lydia left to fulfill her destiny across the country at MIT, Kira went to learn her heritage as a kitsune, and Malia was traveling the world according to her whims. They all had somewhere important to be.

With so many pack members scattered to the four corners of the globe and the life-threatening incidents decreased from a daily occurance to maybe once a month, the town now felt a little quiet, a little empty, and sometimes even lonely. There was hardly anyone around anymore. 

Maybe lizard face knew exactly what he was doing when he came to pay a visit.

But it was still weird seeing Jackson here after so many years. He’d transferred out in sophomore year. Sophomore year! It was so long ago. Stiles still had a buzz cut back then, and his dad still thought they had a killer mountain lion problem. And so much has changed since. 

Like, apparently Jackson and Ethan were an item now, even though Stiles had no idea how they even met each other. There’s no way he wasn’t going to snoop into how  _ that _ started. Was Danny okay with this? Stiles would get the juicy details one way or another. 

* * *

“Come on, baby. I know it’s a humid night, but you can hold it together for me.” 

Stiles’s Jeep was making worse grinding noises than usual. He could try to blame the atmospheric fog that’s descended on Beacon Hills—and with this atmospheric view of a misty forest lining Crooked Mile Road, who could blame him—but he knew he really should bring it in for professional repairs. The problem was that real mechanics cost a lot more than a roll of duct tape and a can-do attitude. Maybe he could see how far he could stretch his share of Mrs. Fink’s troll money.

“I promise I’ll get you better, baby. Just hold on for—holy shit!” Stiles swerved out of the way when a figure appeared in the middle of the road. 

Tires screeched in protest, and he pulled hard on the steering wheel to keep from sliding off the road and into something. By the time he finally slid to a stop, his heart was pounding in his chest with unspent adrenaline. He had managed to land with his headlights illuminating the figure he’d almost run over. Werewolf blue eyes reflected back.

“What the hell, Jackson?” Stiles snapped as he struggled out of the car. “Are you out of your mind? You could have killed us both. I still might if I don’t get my heart rate down.”

Jackson for once didn’t carry his signature smug expression. Instead he was pale, and maybe even almost . . . nervous?

“Hello? Earth to Jackson?” He waved his hand in front of the werewolf’s face. Jackson’s gaze suddenly snapped into focus, and the sudden movement pulled a not very manly yelp out of Stiles.

“Stiles,” Jackson said, and he sounded slightly panicked. “We need a ride. Ethan, he’s—”

“Right here and just fine,” Ethan called, emerging from some bushes by the road.

Stiles looked between the two werewolves.”Is everything okay? And—is that blood?”

In the glow cast by the Jeep’s headlights, he could see that the front of Ethan’s shirt was stained red. The splash looked like it had been dripping down from where his neck met his shoulder, but Ethan must have found a way to wipe the blood off his freshly healed skin.

“I’m fine,” Ethan insisted. “We were walking. I fell in a ditch. Then my healing kicked in.”

Jackson clenched his jaw like he was pissed about something, but he didn’t argue. 

“Okay . . . ” Stiles said. Something was definitely fishy here, but it looked like he wasn’t going to get a real answer out of them right now. “I was heading to pack night. You two need a lift?”

“Yes, please,” Jackson ground out through clenched teeth.

“Then let’s go.”

They all walked back to the Jeep and climbed in. His near collision with Jackson had caused the car to stall out, and he had to crank the key several times as the engine kept tripping over false starts.

Jackson, who had grown antsy in his seat, had started whipping his head around in every direction. He snapped, “When are you going to get this piece of junk fixed?” before Stiles finally managed to get the engine started. 

Stiles thought about grumbling over the rude treatment of his car, but he figured he’d also be pissed if he’d almost been run over. Besides, werewolf senses could easily pick up angry muttering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is already written, and I'll be posting a new chapter every three days. Outside of the five chapters here, I have at least a six-part series planned out for this AU. I'm happy to hear from you, so leave a comment and let me know what you think. Love you!


	2. Chapter 2

Minutes later, Stiles found himself sitting in Derek’s loft shoveling chips by the mouthful. If anyone gave him disgusted looks, he didn’t care. He was too absorbed tapping through his phone. Thanks to his awkward detour picking up Jackson and Ethan, the three of them were the last to arrive to pack night, so there were plenty of people around to coo over the London wolves.

In his head he knew it was a big deal that Jackson and Ethan were in town, because this was the first time Jackson had bothered to  _ ever _ visit Beacon Hills since he fled the country. But still, there was a small, petty part of him that was disappointed that they completely monopolized the one weekend when Lydia was visiting from MIT. Sure, he no longer pursued her in a romantic sense, but it still felt too frustratingly like high school to see Lydia on Jackson’s arm again. Heck, even Allison happened to be in town tonight.

Jackson was telling stories of their London escapades. Apparently they spent more time dodging other packs trying to recruit them or avoiding monsters trying to kill them than they did on any sort of work or education. Jackson was now in the middle of recounting a particularly bad blood feud that had enthralled most of the room. Ethan and Erica, bless their hearts, were rolling their eyes at most of the dramatic details, but Stiles found himself disproportionately ticked off that Derek was at least giving him his attention.

Stiles decided it was time to be utterly pathetic again and shoved another fist full of food into his mouth, when the group burst into laughter at something Jackson said.

“You know,” Lydia said, “Stiles had gotten pretty good at his protection magic. Maybe you should ask him to make up a couple of charms for next time you get yourself in hot water.”

Stiles always knew she was the best buddy ever. He tried not to look too smug as Jackson frowned. “And they seriously work?”

“Yeah,” Scott shot in. “They’re one of MSPI’s top sellers. You should see the weekends when he works on his backlog of orders.”

Erica laughed. “Craft supplies up the wazoo. He looks like he’s got his own Etsy shop.”

Stiles glared at her in utter betrayal. She was usually sitting right beside him with the glue gun handy when he had a ton of orders to fill.

Jackson pulled his smuggest grin. “So you lame dorks really are PIs now?”

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “We are excellent dorks.”

“Yeah, I wanted to call it McCall Stilinski Paranormal Investigators because I’m the alpha.”

“I wanted Stilinski McCall because I’m the one who, you know, usually does the investigating.”

Scott flashed a sheepish grin. “We fought over it constantly, so I suggested we combine our names into McStilinskall.”

“And I said I’d rather chew my own  _ arm _ off than name our business something so horrendous,” Stiles said, rubbing his face. “So here we are.”

Jackson was about to crack a joke at the legitimacy of their supposed “business,” but Ethan hushed him with a playful jab in the arm. “But you go by the initials? MSPI?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “My dad said no one reputable would sign a check to something with ‘paranormal’ in the name, not that anyone writes checks anymore. But we’re expecting a lot of our cases to start out as consulting work for the police, and the boss  _ says _ . . .”

“So we go by MSPI usually,” Scott concluded. “Of course, I can’t get Stiles to stop lovingly referring to our office as ‘Miss Pie’.”

“Dude! I can hear you adding the ‘e.’ Don’t disrespect her mathematical prowess by reducing her identity to pastry.”

Scott only hung his head in reply.

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, when his phone buzzed in his hand. It was a text from his dad:  _ Everyone indoors and accounted for? _

Well that didn’t sound good. Puzzled, he typed out his reply before his dad could start worrying.  _ Pack night at Derek’s. Everyone here _ .

_ Good. Stay indoors. Make sure you go home with Scott. _

_ What happened? Something I should tell the group? _

_ Until I know more, it’s a police matter. _

Stiles’s frown deepened. Nine times out of ten, a police matter in Beacon Hills was really a supernatural matter. He thought he and his dad were past this. He stopped hiding his werewolf antics years ago, and it took even longer for his worry-prone dad to stop trying to keep him out of it. Okay, so maybe Stiles did occasionally downplay some of the threats the pack often faced, but he was just looking out for the man’s health. It’s not like his dad could control every aspect of every case, but if Stiles could make his job easier by helping figure out what’s going on, then why wouldn’t he let him help? Whatever it is, it must have him worried.

“Dude, you okay?”

Stiles’s head snapped up, and he could see several faces staring at him with varying shades of concern. “Scott, what?”

“You had thinking face on,” Scott said. “You looked like you wanted to murder your phone.”

“Thinking face looks like murder?”

“Sometimes, usually when you’re trying to solve a murder. Is there something we need to know?”

Stiles suddenly felt nervous with so much attention on him. Several of the pack looked like they were expecting horrific news, and he hated that they spent so much time fighting evil that they had grown to expect the worst. Even Jackson and Ethan looked like they were on edge.

Stiles tried to school his expression to something less serious, hoping he sounded as casual as he intended. “Nothing yet. Just my dad being more cryptic than usual. Hopefully I’ll be able to get it from him in the morning, but it might not be our kind of issue.” Some people, like Erica, Liam, and Allison, seemed satisfied with that for now. But some, like judging from the frown that Scott and Derek exchanged, seemed to ask the real question: Since when is it ever  _ not _ their kind of issue?

* * *

An hour later, Stiles was grumbling at his phone, cursing the small-town news cycle. Whatever had freaked his dad out still hadn’t hit any news sites, or even the local blogs. It was so annoying how people around here weren’t interested in reporting every incident’s most morbid details within a few hours of the police finding it, and his ability to snoop on his dad’s calls had severely declined since he moved out. If he didn’t find anything soon, he would have to rely on the rumor mill in the morning. And he hated waiting for juicy details.

A bump in the road caused him to almost drop his phone, and he pulled the seatbelt taught trying to catch it. Then he froze as he suddenly realized exactly where he was. 

“Scotty,” Stiles said, trying to sound casual, “where are we going? And why are you driving my Jeep?”

“We’re going out,” he answered cagily, “and you wouldn’t stop texting.”

“I was researching,” Stiles replied, waving his phone around. “You know, figuring out what’s going on, looking into the supernatural, information gathering. The life’s blood of our fledgling enterprise and what helps us keep the citizens of Beacon Hills safe. I wasn’t texting.”

Scott shrugged, but he shot Stiles a side-eyed glance. “You find out what your dad was talking about?”

Stiles sighed. “Nothing so far. The station hasn’t released anything official, and I doubt they will anytime soon. I was hoping to find some witnesses on the local news sites, but whatever it is hasn’t broken yet.”

“So maybe it’s nothing to worry about.”

Stiles scoffed. “Or maybe it’s another serial killer. Or the Easter bunny hellbent on revenge. I dunno, the only thing I could find was a traffic app that said BHPD closed off Crooked Mile Road between Peach and Wallace.”

Scott thought a moment. “That section skirts the Preserve not too far from Derek’s loft.”

Stiles jolted. Of course! He took that road only a few hours earlier, and he hadn’t run into any police blockade. Now that he thought about it, Crooked Mile must have been right around where he’d nearly plowed into Jackson.

“Scott, Jackson and Ethan were doing something hella shady on that stretch of road.” He told Scott about Jackson walking out in front of his car and looking uncharacteristically nervous before Ethan emerged wearing a bloodstained shirt. “I mean, the guy was a mess!”

Scott gripped the steering wheel and looked slightly concerned. “It sounds like he was injured pretty bad.” 

“And then he healed. Point is, whatever they were doing, it might have involved whatever my dad found. I have to find out what happened.”

“And we’ll look into it,” Scott said. “Tomorrow.”

“Or we find out tonight. If I could just get my laptop, I’m sure I could . . . Scotty?”

Scott had just pulled the Jeep off the road and into a dark parking lot. There were several cars already parked, and a few people dressed in neon clothes that left little to the imagination were making their way to a nearby windowless building. But the front doorway revealed flashing multicolored lights, and it didn’t take werewolf ears to hear the pulsing techno music coming from within. 

“Scott, why are we at a club?”

“I told you,” he said, putting the Jeep in park, “we’re going out.”

“Out? We’ve got an actual mystery to solve, and you want to go clubbing?”

“Well, Allison thought it would be . . .”

“Ah, Allison thought, huh?” He knew exactly why Scott was suddenly eager to go out. 

“She thought some of us could hang out while people are in town. Lydia will be there.”

“Scott, while I appreciate that you were so generous to think of what I’d want out of these nighttime shenanigans, Lydia hasn’t been that kind of big draw in . . . wait a minute, those two are here.” Stiles narrowed his eyes as he spotted Jackson and Ethan emerge with the girls from Allison’s car, and then he slowly turned his gaze to Scott.

Scott shot him a crooked grin. “It could be fun?”

“Fun? You kidnapped me to hang out with the London douche crew.”

“It’s hardly kidnapping when you agreed to it. Not my fault you were too busy on your phone to pay attention.”

“Scott, my dad asked us to go straight home . . .”

“Please, Stiles? Allison leaves town tomorrow.” Scott flashed him his most pitiful puppy dog face, and Stiles has never been able to deny him when he uses it.

Stiles cursed. “Fine, but I am so interrogating them about what they were doing out on Crooked Mile Road. I am not to be deterred!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry if there were any typos. My stinky cat wouldn't stop walking across my keyboard. *pointed side-eye* 
> 
> Anyways, don't forget to hit me up in the comments. Next chapter will be much longer and will post on Tuesday.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles’s interrogation tactics were proving to be less than fruitful.

At first he tried the subtle approach. The group started the night off at the bar, and Stiles took every opportunity he could to insert himself in the conversation with seemingly innocent questions, like how long they thought they would stay in town, had they managed to look up anyone else in Beacon Hills, whether the town changed much since they moved away, and what they liked to do in London. 

Lydia and Ethan were fairly cooperative in the conversation; she even asked after Aiden with seeming casualness. Scott and Allison chose to go talk alone pretty early on. But Jackson never wasted an opportunity to tick Stiles off. The smug prick would shrug as if he didn’t care, steer the conversation to how Lydia was doing at MIT, or sometimes outright ignore him. Stiles found himself getting so frustrated his questions became a lot more pointed, like how they spent their afternoon, where were they staying, and whether they’d done anything recently that could be tied to a crime.

Okay, maybe that last one wasn’t so subtle.

That’s when Lydia decided it was time to start dancing, and she dragged Jackson to the dance floor as if  _ he _ was the one who had to be distracted before he hurt someone. Stiles had no qualms about openly glaring at the werewolf before they disappeared in the bumping crowd.

Even some hot guy in the corner giving him eyes—gorgeous, gorgeous pale blue eyes—couldn’t cheer him up.

Stiles sulked in his beer for a couple minutes, every now and then eyeing Scott and Allison still chatting by themselves. The two hadn’t dated since sophomore year, but they still looked at each other like they were the only ones in the room. It had been a while since he’d seen them like that. Stiles knew that Scott and Allison’s relationship had been complicated since they met. Heck, at their happiest they’d been hiding their relationship from her parents for fear that the hunters would kill Scott; it wasn’t exactly the model of a healthy romance. 

But the two had never really spent much time apart. Scott had once said that fighting villains and protecting the town had always felt natural with her there, but seeing them here and now, talking and smiling like they were sixteen again, he wondered if Scott sometimes missed what they had, because they were never as warm as good friends like Stiles and Lydia were. There was always this formal barrier whenever they interacted one on one. Not tonight, though. 

“Here, drink this.” 

Stiles blinked as Ethan shoved a water bottle in his face.

“I’m a grown-ass adult. I don’t need you to take care of me.” Stiles frowned and went back to his phone to scour social media about Crooked Mile Road. He tried to ignore Ethan sitting right next to him, but the former alpha’s stare eventually made him cave and open the bottle. Okay, so maybe he was acting a little childish.

It wasn’t until Stiles got through half the bottle before Ethan looked remotely satisfied. He set the bottle down and wet his lips. Across the room, hot blue-eyed guy was joined by a smirking woman, so maybe that wasn’t going to happen. But now that he had Ethan here, maybe he could get some information out of him. There was something that kind of bothered him.

“So how did you and Jackson meet, anyway?”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered, waving a hand through the air. “Jackson had left for London before you even set foot in Beacon Hills. Last we saw you, you and Danny had run off together. Now Danny’s going to some tech school on the east coast, and you and Jackson are . . .” He gestured vaguely.

Ethan looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s not like Danny and I were star-crossed lovers doomed to fail.”

“So not what I was implying.”

“But it was a pretty chaotic time for me. Aiden had nearly died because the Nogi—well, you know.”

Stiles blanched but nodded anyway. He remembered exactly what they almost lost to the Nogitsune. 

“And even though we’d been together since birth, Aiden said he needed space, so he and I started to do our own things and spent some time apart. And, it sounds dramatic, but I began to lose my mind a little bit. I had no pack, and even when we were both omegas, I was used to at least having Aiden with me. I mean, you’ve seen our alpha form. I was suddenly without my quite literally other half.”

Stiles’s arm dropped, phone suddenly forgotten. Ethan was really laying it all out there, and while Stiles, who’d always painfully been an only child and had no real frame of reference to understand what Ethan must have gone through, couldn’t imagine what he’d do if Scott just one day decided that he “needed space.” He’d probably lose his mind a little too.

“Danny was there for me in ways that I didn’t deserve, but even before then we were starting to drift apart. I needed a pack, he was visiting his former best friend, so that’s how I met Jackson.” Ethan smirked a little bit. “The prick was highly suspicious of me at first. Kept trying to convince Danny to dump me because he was too good for me.”

Stiles decided that sounded exactly like Jackson.

“But even when it looked like the writing was on the wall between me and Danny, when Danny left, Jackson let me stay. I don’t know when exactly it became more than, well, something. But eventually I realized I could function again without Aiden. And it turned out to be Jackson who helped make that possible.”

Stiles took another drink so he wouldn’t have to respond right away. He hated to admit it, but the way Ethan told the story, it was surprisingly sweet. In a lot of ways, Stiles held onto the image of the Jackson he knew in high school, and after all these years he was still mostly an asshole, but he supposed even Jackson had grown up a little bit.

But that didn’t mean that Stiles also couldn’t sometimes be an asshole.

“But still. You couldn’t make it work with sweet, lovely Danny, yet you’re happy to date the smug lizard? I wouldn’t have blown it so bad.”

Ethan smirked. “You know Danny always thought you were incredibly annoying, right?”

Stiles flashed a thousand-watt smile. “Nonsense, he loves me.” He saw hot guy in the corner look up at him again, likely drawn to the sound of his laughter between songs. He decided to send a playful wink his way.

Ethan, however, hadn’t noticed, and he’d grown serious again. “You know Jackson still thinks about you guys, right?”

Stiles hummed in question. 

“He doesn’t always say it. Probably normally wouldn’t admit it. But I can tell that he thinks about the pack here pretty regularly. And it’s not just Lydia. You, Scott, sometimes Derek. He knows that you guys pulled him out of the kanima, that if you hadn’t saved him, he’d still be under somebody’s control.”

Stiles gripped his phone hard. It had been a hard time back then. They had just been kids scrambling and guessing their way through the supernatural, surviving mostly on pure luck. And now even Stiles himself knew exactly what it’s like to be under someone else’s control.

“He’s always,” Ethan continued, “thought well of you guys. If he were ever in real trouble, you and Scott would probably be the first people he would go to. At least, if he ever got his head out of his ass long enough to admit he was in trouble.”

Ethan’s voice trailed off, and his expression was schooled to look casual, but Stiles got the feeling that there was something important that just went unsaid. Stiles was about to open his mouth to prod further, when his phone buzzed in his hand. It was a series of text messages from Melissa McCall.

_ Police just brought a new body to the morgue _

_ Looks like a pack issue _

_ Died of severe blood loss _

_ Like no blood left _

_ But relatively small puncture wounds and no mess _

_ Scott isn’t answering his phone _

All thoughts of his conversation with Ethan completely left Stiles’s head. Thank all that is holy that Scott’s mom was always more willing to share information than Stiles’s dad, because he had no doubt in his mind that this was exactly what the police found on Crooked Mile Road. 

What Melissa described was so strange that it practically screamed a supernatural issue. Blood drained. Small puncture site. And no blood left behind or spilled? Stiles wasn’t usually one to quickly leap to conclusions without the facts—okay, maybe minus a murder accusation or two—but so far the evidence here would point to—

“Stiles!” Ethan snapped his fingers in his face. “Is everything okay?”

Stiles took a moment to steady his breathing and hopefully slow down his pounding heart rate. He looked straight into the werewolf’s eyes and asked pointblank, “What did you and Jackson encounter by Crooked Mile Road?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed as he replied in a flat voice, “Jackson doesn’t—”

But Stiles refused to hear the rest of it. With a loud scrape, he pushed his stool away from the bar and cut his way through the crowd on the dance floor. It was obvious Ethan wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. Whether it’s because he’s waiting for Jackson’s permission or because Jackson’s the only one who knows, he didn’t care. Stiles would just go straight to the source if he had to.

Stiles strode right up to Jackson, who was grinding pretty heavily against some dude while Lydia fluttered gracefully nearby.

He saw Stiles and with a smirk on his face asked, “Get tired of being the wallflower, Stilinski? There’s room for more here.”

Stiles did a double take and arched his eyebrows at the invitation, but his fury couldn’t be contained long. Ignoring the crowd of people around them, Stiles yelled over the music, “Seriously, dude, vampires?” He knew this close Jackson’s werewolf hearing probably would have helped him understand if he’d whispered, but he wanted to hear himself accuse Jackson.

Jackson’s eyes flashed blue for a split second, and his upper lip curled into a snarl.

But Stiles refused to be intimidated. He crossed his arms and put on his most stubborn face, really hoping that he could channel some Derek Hale eyebrow action right now. “I think you need to tell me exactly why you came back to town.”

Jackson jerked his chin for Stiles to follow him and headed for the club’s side exit so they could talk alone. Ethan looked like he was going to follow, but Jackson murmured something about keeping an eye on Lydia, so he shuffled to join her on the dance floor.

When Stiles and Jackson made it out in the cool night air, the silence in the dark alley behind the club was almost deafening compared to the oppressive noise inside. Stiles shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and waited as Jackson slid to a stop where they could talk with relative privacy. 

They stood there staring at each other in silence for a few moments until Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Well?”

Jackson shrugged and asked, “What do you want?”

“Dude, seriously?” Stiles nearly smacked himself in the face when he reached to rub the bridge of his nose. Was Mrs. Fink’s stupid troll really only that morning? “I want you to cut the shit, Jackson, and give me an honest answer. Did you bring a vampire here?”

“Not on purpose.” 

“Not on—! You mean you didn’t intentionally invite a vampire over to Beacon Hills to chat? Gee, thanks, I didn’t realize they couldn’t enter whole towns without an invitation and not just houses.  _ Did you know a vampire followed you here? _ ”

“Vampires,” Jackson corrected.

“What?!” His voice totally didn’t crack into a shriek. 

“Vampires,” he repeated. “Back in London, Ethan and I had a run-in with a coven from Gloucester, and it didn’t end well.”

“Explain to me what ‘didn’t end well’ means. Like you left them eating ice cream and watching rom coms on the couch?”

Jackson growled in frustration but continued. “We were in over our heads, but it was too late and we pissed them off. Like ‘major lifelong feud with creatures that don’t die’ kind of pissed off. We thought if we left for a while, maybe the heat would die down or they wouldn’t think we were worth chasing. But they wouldn’t stop, and every time they got closer they’d threaten us, everyone we know, and everything we hold dear.”

Stiles stared in open-mouthed shock before he found his voice again. “Good job, guys. Really have to hand you the trophy for just ignoring your problems with the hope they would go away. Did you really think that would work?”

“You don’t have to act all pissy.”

“I have a right to be pissed!” Stiles yelled, all decorum and easy sarcasm gone out the window. “You brought a coven of vampires with a vendetta straight into our backyard, and you didn’t bother to give us a heads up? Somebody died tonight. The police are investigating. My  _ dad _ has been pushed right in the middle of your little Old World blood feud.”

When Jackson’s gaze flickered down, Stiles noticed that his own hands were shaking by his sides. Stiles clenched them into fists and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “We don’t hide vital information that could get people hurt. We don’t operate that way. Not since we were idiot teenagers.” His breath was coming out shaky and shallow, but his rant was over.

Jackson’s shoulders were still stiff with tension, but his expression was now much more broken. Dare he say Jackson actually looked sorry? “What are you going to do?” he finally asked.

“I have to go tell my dad what we’re dealing with,” Stiles replied flatly. And he turned on his heel and walked around the building toward the parking lot. “I’m sure Allison won’t mind driving Scott home.”

Stiles wasn’t proud of it, but he may have kicked a dumpster or two as he made his way down the alley. Stupid Jackson and his stupid problems. He couldn’t believe they had brought a group of angry vampires with them. Hell, if he’s correctly interpreting Ethan’s bloody shirt from earlier, they’d been viciously attacked only a few hours ago.

Stupid Jackson.

Vampires. Back when Scott had first become a werewolf, Stiles had done some research into all the major monsters in case they might have also been real, but back then he couldn’t really tell what was true and what was utter bullshit without some trial and error, because his major source at the time was Wikipedia. And they never faced anything resembling vampires in Beacon Hills, so he hadn’t done any extensive research into them. Most of what he did know came from  _ Buffy _ and  _ Twilight _ and a miscellaneous collection of cheesy 80s movies. There were supposed to be several different types, right? Was there such a thing as UK-specific vampires? Or did they all emigrate from Transylvania?

He should probably start with the Argent bestiary to see if they had come across any bloodsuckers. Maybe Derek had encountered some in his travels and could say whether they can be negotiated with. In the meantime, maybe he could convince his dad to issue wooden stakes to the force. Stiles was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well.

As Stiles approached his Jeep, he started fumbling for his keys. When he dropped them on the asphalt, he mumbled another “stupid Jackson” before he reached down to pick them up.

“Boyfriend troubles?” someone said from behind him.

Stiles whirled around and saw the hot guy he’d ogled from the bar. He was alone now, casually leaning against a parked car. “What?”

The guy stood up fully, his inky motions the very picture of grace. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just noticed you exit the club with that one guy, and now you’re out here leaving without him. I don’t want to pry, but are you two having a lovers’ spat?” Stiles could detect the vaguest hint of a lilting accent.

Okay, that was the very definition of prying. Stiles shut his jaw with a snap, swallowing his first instinct to vehemently deny any romantic involvements with Jackson. “I’m just leaving.”

The guy stepped closer to Stiles. He looked so pale under the sparse parking lot lights, his skin almost translucent. With such pale skin and dark hair, his blinding bright blue eyes stood out all the brighter for being the only spot of color.

“You know, if you were my boyfriend . . .” He stood right in front of Stiles now, and closing his eyes, he took a long, deep breath. “I’d never lie about who I brought home.”

Stiles tried to take a step away, but his back was now pressed against the side of his Jeep. Okay, dude was hot, but dude had a major creep factor that was giving Stiles’s monkey brain all kinds of instincts to get the hell out of there. Come on, was the guy sniffing his neck just now? And what did he mean about lying about who he brought home, and—holy shit.

“Wait, how did you hear—?” Stiles was cut off by a growl coming from the alleyway behind the club.

Two glowing blue eyes preceded a very pissed-off-looking Jackson in his beta shift form. “I thought I smelled your corpse nearby. Get away from him.”

“Jackson, what—?” Stiles cut off with a small yelp as he was suddenly grabbed and pushed back against the Jeep. The back of his head smacked against the metal, and for a second he saw stars. “What the hell, man?” He struggled against the hands holding him pinned, but it was no use.

Four more figures melted out of the shadows, and it took one woman flashing her fangs for Stiles’s panicked mind to fully grasp the situation. 

Jackson’s vampire fan club finally caught up to him, and now, with vampires versus werewolves, Stiles was in the middle of a worse version of  _ Twilight _ . Or  _ Underworld _ . He felt better comparing his life to  _ Underworld _ . But then again, holy shit, he was totally going to die.

The four surrounding vampires wasted no time attacking Jackson. They swarmed him, lashing out with teeth and claws just as sharp as his own. Jackson fought valiantly, snarling his rage against these bloodsucking creatures of the night. 

At first, it seemed like he could fight them off, but Stiles soon lost hope of rescue as the vampires started landing more and more hits. There were just too many of them against him by himself. They really needed Scott and Ethan to make it a fair fight. Heck, between Allison’s crossbow and Lydia’s weaponized screams, they would have come out victorious.

But Stiles was as hopelessly out of his league as ever as the guy holding him leaned down toward his neck. Stiles grunted and tried to twist out of his grip, but he froze when he felt sharp teeth scrape against where his neck met his shoulder.

“You know,” the guy said, breath hot against his skin, “I must admit that what we have against the wolves is personal. But this, this is purely for pleasure.”

Stiles felt a sharp pain on his shoulder. Pinned there against his own Jeep, all he could do was stare over the guy’s shoulder, where Jackson was fighting a losing battle against four vampires. 

One particularly gruesome slash sent the werewolf to his knees, and glowing blue eyes slowly faded to Jackson’s normal muddy green as he met Stiles’s own.

Stiles held Jackson’s fearful gaze as his own vision began to swim, and he felt faint as the blood drained from his body. The last thing he saw was Jackson collapsing among a small crowd of vampires before he himself lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty pleased with this chapter. Next one will be up on Friday.
> 
> And, as the YouTubers say, don't forget to hit the the like and subscribe button (punch that bell?). I don't know, YouTubers sound kind of violent.


	4. Chapter 4

When Stiles awoke, it took him a couple seconds to realize that must mean he wasn’t dead after all, although it did feel like it was a near thing. His body felt shaky and heavy and, dare he actually say it, drained. Vampires sucking your blood wasn’t nearly as fun as TV led him to believe.

He slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was lying on something threadbare but still relatively soft, so his tired body was still unwilling to move quite yet. The room he was in was pretty dark, so he couldn’t tell if it was still the same night or if there were just no windows to let in natural light. The ceiling was high up and industrial. Maybe they took him to an abandoned warehouse. What a supervillain cliché. 

Some hoarse yells interrupted his thoughts and gave Stiles enough of an adrenaline boost to prop himself up on his elbows. He really was in a warehouse, laid out on an old lumpy couch that probably had more mites living in it than he felt comfortable thinking about. 

Across the room he saw Jackson, shirtless with his arms chained to a hook dangling from the ceiling. Two vampires stood near him brandishing some nasty-looking electric cattle prods. The male vampire kept jabbing his into Jackson’s side, causing the werewolf to jerk against his chains partially wolfed out. The short jabs elicited pained grunts, but the longer the prod was held against his skin, the more he devolved into outright screams. The vampires weren’t even asking questions; their gleeful expressions revealed they just tortured him for the fun of it.

Stiles sat up and got ready to push his aching body off the couch. He wasn’t super stealthy, even on a good day, but maybe if he was quick enough to slip away unseen, he could find a way to free Jackson or get help.

But as soon as he moved his legs, there was a jingling sound, and his left foot stopped short. He looked to see a loop of chain wrapped around his ankle and secured with a padlock. Could nothing go his way just once?

It was too late, though; he’d been heard. Both vampires jerked their attention to him. Jackson took the brief reprieve to hang limply in his chains and let his body start to heal.

The male vampire kept his place near Jackson, but the woman smirked and stalked toward Stiles. “Look who’s finally up,” she crooned in the same vague accent he’d heard from the guy who’d bitten him. It wasn’t quite like any European accent he’d heard before. Maybe somewhat Irish, but the kind that felt like it had been spoken since before modern English had fully formed.

“Well aren’t you a love,” she said, sitting on the couch and way too close. He tried to scooch down the seat as far as the chain would allow, but she just followed. “Cute little rabbit with the rabbit-fast pulse. No wonder Nathaniel couldn’t help himself. I know I couldn’t.”

“Neve,” the guy said from across the room, “don’t play with your food.”

Neve giggled. “Don’t take the fun out of it,” she said playfully. She then reached out one hand and started to actually  _ pet _ Stiles’s head, and it sent all kinds of bad-wrong shivers down his spine.

“Don’t touch him!” Jackson snapped, but the vampire next to him answered with a punch to the gut, leaving him coughing and wheezing. 

“Stop,” Stiles said, body automatically moving to intervene, but he stopped as Neve wrapped her arms around his torso.

She started nuzzling his neck, and despite Stile’s struggles, she once again giggled. “Wolves are practically useless because their blood is no good for us. But you smell so delicious, and I could really use a snack.”

“Well find some animal crackers and a juice box, lady, because the kitchen is closed.” Stiles tried pushing her away with all his strength, but his puny human muscles were no match against a supernatural creature. He could vaguely hear Jackson snarling in the background, but his mind was occupied with the predator too close to his jugular.

“I sure love it when they struggle,” she purred.

“And now you’re just making it weird.” 

But all snark left building when Stiles once again felt teeth right next to the sore spot on his neck where he’d been bitten before. Now his body was frozen, split between fight or flight instincts until the only thing he could do was croak, “Stop, please.”

Then a roar cut through the room, and the woman was flung away from Stiles. For half a moment, he’d thought maybe Derek had come to the rescue, but that hope was quickly shattered when three more vampires appeared, hissing at Neve. The middle one, now hissing through fanged teeth, was the vampire Stiles had met at the club—Nathaniel, Neve had called him. 

Neve instinctually flashed her fangs at the group, but she quickly lowered her head in submission. Nathaniel must have been the alpha vampire or coven leader or whatever they called the guy in charge of a group of bloodsucking vampires.

“I didn’t say I was willing to share,” he snarled. 

Neve stood up and dusted herself off as if she hadn’t just been thrown twenty feet. “But I was just so thirsty,” she simpered.

“You gorged yourself after we attacked those wolves near the forest. You’re fine. So don’t touch my things.” Despite the dangerous situation, Stiles prickled at being called someone’s “thing.”

“Yes, brother,” she answered. Then she took the arm of the guy who’d been torturing Jackson, and the two walked out of the room.

Nathaniel spared one quick smirk at Stiles, which he promptly returned with his most face-melting glare, before he leisurely stalked over to where Jackson hung.

“You know, the only thing I hate worse than werewolves are nosy American werewolves.” He punctuated his point with a punch to Jackson’s gut.

“You dogs had the gall to stumble in on my territory. No decorum. No permission. Just like you’re entitled to anything you can get your grubby little paws on, with no regard to the centuries your betters spent holding that land.”

Jackson gave his best superior smirk, the one that used to drive Stiles nuts in high school. “Yeah, well, you guys were assholes. Of course you’re going to bump heads when you attack every supernatural being just passing through.”

Nathaniel hissed. “You mutts killed my lieutenant, and you’re both going to pay.” He picked up a cattle prod and let it dance over Jackson’s bare torso. Jackson kept his expression schooled into an angry snarl, but he couldn’t stop his body from jerking away as electricity crackled against flesh. “I’m happy to slowly take it out of your hide until we get your partner too. But I sure hope you can last a long while, because I haven’t seen him try to mount a rescue yet.”

Jackson’s abdomen was heaving through the pain, but he managed to spit out a, “Fuck you!”

Nathaniel smirked. “Speaking of which, all this torture has made me thirsty again.” Then, with cattle prod still in hand, he moved toward Stiles’s couch.

“Speaking of which?” Stiles repeated. “Aw, hell no. I did not consent to this.” And to his never ending frustration, he found himself pushing uselessly against another handsy vampire. 

Nathaniel wrapped his long arms around him and buried his face into Stiles’s exposed throat. Stiles closed his eyes, waiting for that sharp pain that led to heavy limbs and lightheadedness, but instead the vampire paused.

“He’s not part of this,” Jackson growled.

Stiles felt Nathaniel’s lips against his neck curve upward in a smile. He’d been waiting for this. Keeping one restraining arm around Stiles, he used his other hand to angle Stiles’s face toward Jackson, throat still bared and available to his fangs. Stiles bit out a, “Cut it out, asshole,” and twisted his limbs in the vampire’s grip, but Nathaniel ignored him. 

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Nathaniel said. 

Stiles’s neck quickly began to ache at the awkward angle, but forced to look at Jackson like this, he could see that Jackson was not his usual cool self. Slightly wolfed out, clothes ripped and bloody, hanging limply from chains, he was radiating desperation and anger.

“I told you once earlier tonight. You killed my second, so it’s only fair that I take something of yours. If this human proves interesting, maybe I’ll turn him and take him into my coven, and you werewolves can tuck your tails between your legs like the cowards you are.” He chortled at his own stupid dog joke. “Unless . . . you and your partner want to square your debt with your own pound of flesh. All you have to do is just tell me where he is.”

Stiles could see a shift in Jackson’s face. He hung there, injured, broken, and in pain, and Stiles could see how hurt and trapped he felt. He was weighing the options from a place where choice had been taken away. Should he let Stiles become this psycho’s personal blood bank to keep his boyfriend safe as long as possible? Or should he try to save the helpless human with the assumption that Ethan can take care of himself and has the rest of the pack as backup?

Historically Jackson had always been able to cover up his real feelings with his usual smug asshole persona, and throughout high school he never showed anything but his best face. He had been an excellent student admired by half the faculty and a leader of a championship-winning lacrosse team. He was Jackson-fucking-Whittemore, everybody’s type. He used to brag that he never encountered a scenario he couldn’t control.

Now, injured and chained, there was open fear etched on his face. His brain was obviously whirring with indecision and guilt, and Stiles could see that Jackson felt beaten. It was an expression he’d only once seen on Jackson, back when they were idiot teenagers who thought the scariest thing they’d see was Peter Hale at the winter formal. Just like that sixteen-year-old boy who’d been in way over his head, Jackson Whittemore was now frozen by fear.

Stiles, though, was just plain pissed.

“He’s just some asshole,” Stiles said. The vampires in the room froze. Jackson, though, was finally looking right at him, eyes sharper and more focused than they’d been the last few minutes.

Figuring he finally had everyone’s attention, Stiles continued. “These walking corpses may be hot shit where they’re from, but this time they came into our territory.”

Stiles could see the gears turning in Jackson’s head. He was no longer whirring with whatever dark thoughts had been churning the guilt and indecision in his head before. 

“Don’t listen to his stupid threats, because the Beacon Hills pack doesn’t roll over for anybody.”

And finally he could tell that he’d gotten through to Jackson. The expression on his face was firmly determined, no longer scared and no longer just a front of false confidence.

Nathaniel, though, chuckled and leaned in to whisper, “And this is why I know you’d be interesting.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t talking to you,” Stiles grumbled. 

At that moment, the door opened, and the large vampire from earlier came in. He strode straight up to Nathaniel and whispered something in his ear. All Stiles could catch was, “There’s someone . . .” but his voice was too quiet to pick up more.

When he finished delivering his message, Nathaniel grunted something in the affirmative and motioned the other two vampires in the room to follow the other guy out. They left quickly; whatever it was required their immediate attention.

Before Nathaniel moved, he leaned in to take one more long sniff against Stiles’s throat. “So good. I’d keep you human forever just to keep that smell.”

Then he rose from the couch, lifting Stiles in the air. Stiles let out a panicked yelp and started struggling even harder, worried that he was taking him, but Nathaniel merely chuckled. Stiles was dropped back on the couch to the sound of the chain jingling, and he landed with a hard bounce. He was just so tired of being manhandled.

“Hold tight,” the vampire said. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Jackson growled from his corner, now completely wolfed out and flashing glowing blue eyes. He seemed just as shaken as Stiles when he’d been picked up. 

With one final cheeky salute, Nathaniel left the room, and Stiles and Jackson were finally alone.

Stiles counted slowly to sixty to make sure nobody was coming right back. “Do you know if they’ve gone far? Can they hear us in here?” he asked.

With a small clink of chain, Jackson cocked his head to the side. “They haven’t left the building, but I think they’re far enough away that they can’t hear us.”

“Good.” Stiles immediately lifted the hem of his jacket and started feeling around.

“What are you doing?” Jackson hissed.

“Relax,” he replied. “Just looking for the emergency safety pin I keep in the lining of my hoodie. I think I pinned it right next to the zipper.” And with a soft cheer, his hand emerged triumphant with the small metal pin. He grinned toward Jackson. 

“You actually hid a safety pin in your clothes?”

“There are multiple pins on my person, including the inside of each shoe, a shirt sleeve, and belt loop. You never know when you gotta fix a wardrobe malfunction or escape some evil bad guys.” Then, as if to illustrate his point, he lifted his chained ankle up to the seat of the couch for easy access.

“You are  _ not _ going to pick that lock with just a safety pin.”

“Not without this.” Stiles fumbled through the hair behind his ear then held up a bobby pin. “Ta da,” he said flatly. “This one I learned from Lydia.”

With the two different pins in each hand, he fitted them both into the padlock and started wiggling them around, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration.

“You have hidden pins but no weapon, or, I don’t know, a real lock-picking set?”

“Of course I have a lock-picking set. And a pocket knife with like twenty attachments. But one’s at Miss Pi and the other isn’t exactly great for close quarters clubbing, so I left it in the Jeep.”

“Always prepared. Seriously, Stilinski. You should’ve been a Boy Scout.”

“I was once,” Stiled informed him as he worked the lock. “But then I got asked to leave when we were learning knots and I kept challenging the troup for us to tie each other up to see if we could escape.”

“Of course you did. The parents probably thought you were a precocious little monster.”

“Shut up, I was adorable . . . success!” Stiles pulled off the padlock and unlooped with chain from his ankle.

“Now it’s your turn, big guy,” he said, walking over to where Jackson hung. He brandished his pins and reached up to start painstakingly jiggling through the locks.

“Hurry it up.”

“Not helping. It’s not exactly a science.”

“Can’t you just magic it open?”

“That’s not how my magic works, dude. It requires preparation. Ingredients. Sigils.”

“Well hurry up anyway. I think I hear someone coming.”

“Oh for the love of—” Stiles cursed and started jiggling the pins faster. If he could get just one manacle loose, they’d be able to pull the chain over the hook and at least give Jackson use of his arms again.

“Stop shaking!” Jackson hissed.

“Dude,” Stiles whispered, “this is a high-pressure situation, and there are vampires only too happy to kill us. Of course my hands are shaking.” He lost his grip on one of the pins and, with another string of curses, reached down to pick it up again.

“You need to stay calm, or this isn’t going to work.”

“ _ You _ need to stay calm,” Stiles spat.

“Stiles!”   
  


“What!”

“Hello, loves,” Neve purred as she entered the room, “it looks like I get the delightful task of watching over you while—” But she froze when she spotted Stiles stretched up to reach Jackson’s chains. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh? What’s this then?”

“Shit!” Stiles’s attempts to pick the locks grew more frenzied.

Jackson tried to urge Stiles to run, but before he could protest that he almost had it, Neve reached Stiles, grabbed his arm, and flung him bodily to the concrete floor. By some miracle he managed not to smack his head. 

Jackson roared, locks still holding him captive.

Neve loomed over Stiles. He scooted back a few inches, not willing to stray far from Jackson’s side, no matter how ineffectual the werewolf was in that moment.

“Looks like you have too much energy left, rabbit. Maybe I’ll have that snack after all.” Her eyes looked murderous.

“Go suck on a tomato,” Stiles bit out. But his eyes went wide when her fangs appeared.

“Speaking of suck,” Jackson growled, “maybe don’t turn your back on a kanima-werewolf hybrid, lady.” Then a long, scaled limb wrapped itself around her neck and pulled. Hard.

With a sickening crunch, her neck snapped, and the vampire crumpled to the ground.

Stiles lay staring at her body in stunned silence before Jackson growled, “Hurry, I don’t think a broken neck will keep a vampire down long.”

“Dude!” Stiles whispered as he scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t know you still had your creepy lizard tail.”

“It takes a little concentration, but if you don’t hurry up, I’ll show you my creepy lizard claws!”

“Right, right.” Stiles gingerly fumbled through Neve’s pockets, making a face the whole time, until he pulled out a set of keys. It only took a couple tries until he unlocked Jackson’s manacles.

As soon as Jackson was free, he closed his eyes until his normal werewolf claws were replaced with clear kanima talons. Then he reached down and flicked a cut in the back of Neve’s neck. “Kanima venom has its uses,” he supplied in explanation.

Stiles, meanwhile, cast around the warehouse for a weapon of some kind. Jackson may have claws, fangs, and apparently a tail, but squishy human Stiles was going to need a little extra oomph if they needed to fight their way out of there. He nosed through a couple boxes before he found something suitable leaning against a dusty desk in the corner.

When he returned to Jackson with his prize, the werewolf wrinkled his nose. “Seriously? You’re going to fight a coven of vampires with a baseball bat?”

Stiles gave it a few practice swings. “If they had left one of those electric batons, I would have totally grabbed that. Besides, stick with what you know, right? Unless you wanna break a leg off that desk and try to fashion a wooden stake. Might take some time, though.”

Jackson snorted, but before the two of them got ready to sneak out, he gave Stiles a sidelong look. “Look, these guys came all the way out here because of me and Ethan, and you got caught up in it. I guess I want to say . . . sorry . . . that you got hurt.”

Stiles thoughtfully fingered the marks on his neck where Nathaniel had bitten him. “Yeah, it sucked—no pun intended. But it’s Beacon Hills. Shit happens.”

“But this wasn’t even Beacon Hills shit until we brought them here. I should have at least warned you guys, and Ethan wanted me to. But I didn’t, and that was wrong. I was stubborn and arrogant, and I should have asked for help. After everything you did to save me when I was the kanima . . .” Stiles did not feel the need to bring up the fact that most of his contributions involved kidnapping him and hitting him with his Jeep. “. . . I should have known that you and Scott would have tried to help. I was just too caught up in my own head.”

Stiles took several moments to stare. Well this definitely was not high school Jackson. And the expression on his face, eyes searching Stiles’s own, told him that he was completely sincere. This was real, actual character growth from Jackson Whittemore.

Stiles was incredibly touched. But he was also at least a little petty sometimes.

“You’re right,” he said, “which is why MSPI will be sending an invoice for our services. And it’ll be a fat bill because I know your pretty face is good for it, Whittemore.” He winked and jabbed Jackson’s shoulder playfully with the bat, and it really said a lot about how much Jackson had matured when he only quietly grumbled as he knocked it away.

“Come on, asshole. Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, really hope you're enjoying this so far. We're getting near the end. The last chapter will go up on Monday, which is not so coincidently my birthday. Woo.
> 
> Let me know if you like this in the comments. Thanks, guys.


	5. Chapter 5

This portion of the warehouse had been divided into hallways and offices. Between the maze-like nature of the decrepit building and the fact that neither of them knew the exact limitations of vampire senses, they crept achingly slowly in order to avoid detection. 

Jackson kept to the front while part of his attention focused on any noises behind them in case the vampires managed to sneak up on them. He insisted on creeping his gaze slowly around any new corners first, keeping one hand placed flat against Stiles’s chest to keep the human safely out of the way while he checked for enemies. While on any other occasion, Stiles might have found the soccer mom instincts to be sweet, or at least hilarious, he may have felt the need to shoot the werewolf an indignant expression every time. But with four unaccounted hostiles in the building, it was only a matter of time before someone checked on Neve.

In fact, Stiles got so fed up with the glacial pace, he took every opportunity he got to express his displeasure through facial expressions alone, and they got more over the top as time passed.

Jackson was just starting to contemplate paralyzing and carrying him out so he wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense, when something he heard had him freeze and push Stiles back against the wall, covering his mouth at the last minute to stifle the yelp of surprise. Jackson flashed blue eyes at him to be quiet, but Stiles only glared at him and pushed his hand away.  _ I know _ , he mouthed.

When Stiles raised an eyebrow and pointed to his ear, Jackson beckoned him around two more corners before they came upon an interior window looking into another large room. Now they were close enough for even Stiles to see and hear what was going on inside.

Nathaniel and his remaining vampires stood in a semicircle facing Ethan and Scott.

“I’m telling you,” Scott said in a voice that appeared calm on the surface but to anyone who knew him revealed that he was barely keeping it together, “as the alpha of this territory, you have no right to barge in and take our pack. Return them now, and you can walk away with no dispute.”

“And I’m telling you,” Nathaniel answered haughtily, “that the transgression did not originate from our side. We demand the blood we are owed.”

“Stiles wasn’t even there when it happened.”

Nathaniel let out a hum of surprise. “Oh, is that what the human is called? I thought ‘pet’ would be more fitting.”

“You bastard!” Scott’s eyes flashed red as he surged forward, but Ethan’s grip on his shoulder stopped him from attacking outright.

Stiles didn’t know his own body had tensed until he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Jackson looked incensed, but he merely squeezed his hold in solidarity, and Stiles felt some of the tension ease.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” Scott said. “Return our friends now.”

“No, I think we’ll wipe out your entire pathetic pack, just to make an example.”

And like that was a signal to action, all four vampires immediately attacked the two werewolves. There were growls and hisses and sharp teeth on both sides.

When two went straight for Ethan’s throat, Stiles felt Jackson surge forward through the window, shattering the remaining glass. He let out one rage-filled roar and joined the fight, attacking a female vampire wielding one of those stupid cattle prods.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to do it,” Stiles muttered to himself before his used his bat to knock away the remaining glass. Then he awkwardly scrambled through.

He hefted his bat to the ready and danced along the outskirts of the fight, trying to stay out of the way of any blows but also maybe signal to Scott that he’s out and okay so he won’t be tempted to pull any punches.

Both vampires and wolves fought viciously, but Stiles optimistically thought it might be weighted slightly in their favor. Jackson was dodging electrified blows from the cattle prod while at the same time attempting to get close enough to his adversary to use his claws. 

Ethan was sporting several cuts across his arms and torso, but for every slash that bled sluggishly as it healed, he seemed to at least match it with a slash against his opponent using his own claws. 

Scott was currently grappling with the largest vampire. Despite the initial disadvantage of his smaller build, his alpha-level strength kept him from getting bested.

With one werewolf versus one vampire, that meant all three werewolves would probably at least—oh shit, weren’t there supposed to be four?

Just then, Stiles was knocked to the ground as a heavy body landed on top of him. He managed to twist around enough to protect his head, but that meant his shoulder took the brunt of the fall, and he gasped all the air was knocked from his lungs.

He looked up to see none other than his smugness himself, Nathaniel, straddling his hips to pin him down. They really needed to stop meeting like this.

The vampire did not look good. Apparently he’d gotten acquainted with the business end of Scott’s or Ethan’s claws during the initial scuffle, because half his face had been slashed. Stiles didn’t know if vampires healed as fast as wolves, but the bastard seemed to have plenty of strength left to keep him from crawling away.

“Hello, pet,” the vampire crooned, his voice hoarse as he spoke through a partially torn throat. “Why don’t you lend me some of your delicious blood so I can heal up nicely.”

“Dammit,” Stiles cursed, scrabbling at the cement floor underneath him. He found where the bat had landed after it had been knocked from his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you well. Don’t want to waste even a single drop—”

Stiles caught a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye, then in a blink an arrow lodged itself straight into Nathaniel’s chest. The vampire stared at it dumbstruck for a beat, and then his face contorted in rage as he screamed and turned to see Allison in a far corner of the room, holding her bow and reaching behind her back for another arrow.

Stiles took the opportunity. Grabbing hold of the arrow lodged in the vampire’s chest, Stiles used his other hand to swing the bat up, and with a sickening crunch that set his teeth on edge, he slammed the heavy metal straight against the bottom half of the vampire’s face.

When the bat fell away, Nathaniel’s mouth looked like it had collapsed in on itself, and tiny bits of his teeth fell away, leaving a rough landscape of empty gums.

Shit. But also, sweet.

Then, because Stiles felt like he ought to say something clever after that badass moment, he crowed, “Bite that, you asshole.”

Before the vampire could recover, Jackson appeared and snicked a kanima claw against the back of his neck, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Jackson extended his hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said as he took the offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. It looked like the fighting had ended with the rest of the vampires piled into a mess of paralyzed bodies. Maybe having a part-kanima on your team could come in handy sometimes.

“Stiles!” Scott called as he scampered closer. Jackson took that as his cue to rejoin Ethan, who was now guarding the paralyzed vampires next to Allison.

Scott immediately wrapped his arms around Stiles and then pulled back long enough to check him over for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? When we realized you and Jackson disappeared, I didn’t know what to think. And then we found those scents and the blood by your Jeep, and I thought—”

“Scotty, I’m fine,” Stiles said, batting away Scott’s hands from their frantic search. “Just a little blood loss, but really, in the grand scheme of things, only one guy got a sip.”

But Scott didn’t look reassured. He frowned as his eyes flicked over the now scabbing bite above his T-shirt collar. “I’m sorry I was distracted. I should’ve been there.”

“Dude, you were off the clock having a good time—talking to Allison, who if I may add is objectively awesome. We didn’t know there were vampires around. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Scott still frowned. His puppy dog eyes were really too much.

“Besides,” Stiles added, before stubborn Scott could come to the surface, “you brought in the cavalry, right? We’re safe now.” Then, adopting a nasally voice, he added, “Scott McCall, you’re my hero.”

Scott’s face screwed up. “What?”

Stiles scoffed. “Ferris Bueller? Scotty, Scotty, Scotty, we gotta get you up to speed on the classics, dude.”

Scott snorted then looked serious. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

Knowing it was useless to lie to a concerned werewolf, he admitted, “I guess I’m pretty exhausted now the adrenaline is gone.” The blood loss and the handsy vampires and the constantly getting thrown around certainly didn’t help. 

Then, when Scott gave him his trademark worried puppy expression, he sighed and let Scott pull an arm across his back to help support his weight.

“What do we do about these guys?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the vampires.

Allison answered, “I already had Lydia call my dad. He and some colleagues are on their way to deal with it.”

Stiles grimaced. Chris Argent may have mellowed out a bit over the years, but he didn’t imagine any scenario involving him and his hunter buddies would end pleasantly for the vampires. Unlike Scott, Stiles didn’t necessarily always disapprove of murder, especially when the group had been torturing packmembers and literally threatened to eat him mutliple times that night.

But then again, it really sucks for them. Pun intended.

Allison stated that she would stay behind for her dad and the hunters to arrive so that Stiles and the werewolves could get out of there. Stiles had tried to thank her for shooting Nathaniel right in the nick of time, but she merely waved him away with a shy dimpled smile, saying it was all in a day’s work.

As Scott shuffled Stiles outside toward his waiting Jeep—he totally forgot he’d dropped his keys right before he’d been attacked outside the club—they noticed Jackson and Ethan checking each other over for injuries, all of which had of course healed already.

“Ride’s leaving if you want to be dropped off anywhere,” Stiles called. By the time Scott bundled him into the front passenger seat and he was batting away Scott’s attempts to buckle his seatbelt for him—“Scott, for the last time, I’m fine”—Jackson and Ethan had come to a grumbling agreement to join them before the hunters arrived on the scene and climbed into the Jeep’s backseat. 

Scott drove away, darting sideways glances to Stiles.

“Scotty, any reason why you’re looking at me like I’m terminally ill?”

Scott startled and stared firmly ahead. “You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? My mom’s still on shift. She can look you over real quick.”

Stiles sighed. “And if I said I’m fine, no hospital visit necessary, would you believe me?”

“McCall’s got a point, though,” Jackson said, much to Stiles’s annoyance. “You hit your head multiple times today.”

“It has not been multiple times!” Stiles spluttered. 

Jackson held up one finger. “One, that Nathaniel tool knocked you pretty hard against your piece of crap Jeep.” Then, before Stiles could get appropriately worked up about insulting his baby, he held up another finger. “Two, your pitiful fight against that puny troll.”

Stiles scoffed. “Neither case was anywhere near concussion levels. Besides, you were the one the vampires decided to light up like a Christmas tree with their torture. Sure  _ you _ don’t need to be checked out? At the vet?”

Stiles loved the shade of red on Jackson’s face. “Maybe that’s the low blood pressure talking. They couldn’t shut up about how delicious they found your pasty human blood.”

“W-what?” Scott stuttered.

“I can’t believe you kept that dirty old bat you found.”

“Dude, I literally knocked a vampire’s teeth out with this. Even if you disregard the poetic justice, there’s no way I’m ditching this artifact of my badassery.” He hugged the bat against his chest as he spoke. He was actually thinking about ways he could trick it out when he got back to Miss Pi. As annoying as Jackson was that night, he did help him realize that there’s gotta be some imaginative ways to use his magic on the offensive. Maybe some sigils traced in mountain ash.

“Besides,” Stiles continued, “I can’t believe you’re jealous of my delicious human blood.”

“And I can’t believe you two are having a loser-off about your injuries,” Ethan piped up. 

Stiles and Jackson grumbled into silence after that until Scott pulled up to the Whittemore house. 

After the two werewolves climbed out of the backseat, Stiles could hear Ethan say, “Now you and I are going to have a serious chat. They tortured you?” Then his voice was lost as they walked back toward the house, and Stiles could see Ethan eyeing Jackson in the light of the front porch. His face was furrowed in concern, and Jackson had a certain softness to his expression as he replied. Ethan’s hand reached up to caress Jackson’s face, and he pressed his cheek into Ethan’s, gently leaning into the touch.

When Stiles let out a small chuckle, Scott turned and asked him what was up as he started the car again.

“Nothing. Those jerks are just too damn adorable.”

He saw the two werewolves on the porch tense, obviously close enough to hear them, and Stiles let out a mischievous cackle as Scott drove away and out of sight.

* * *

Two days later was simultaneously too much time and too little since their run-in with the vampires. Stiles had long put the incident behind him as another day in Beacon Hills, instantly relieved when he could inform his dad that the problem was solved.

But, ever since that all-night adventure, Stiles still hadn’t been able to catch up on both the sleep the he’d fallen behind on and the homework he’d neglected while trying to catch up on the sleep.

So there he was, hunched over the coffee table in Miss Pi, cursing and grumbling to himself as he aggressively pounded out a paper on his laptop. His long-forgotten cup of coffee had gone cold hours ago, and as the harsh glare of the stove clock painfully announced it was nearly 3:00 a.m., Stiles briefly considered whether a shot might help him finish faster. No rest for the wicked, right?

His phone started buzzing on the coffee table next to him, and before Stiles could even consider what kind of insane person would call so late at night, he mindlessly answered with a, “Y’ello?”

“Stilinski!” screamed the voice at the other end of the line. 

“Sup, Jackson,” he answered absentmindedly. “I take it you made it back to cheery old London?” He continued typing. There was no way he was going to pause for anything this close to the deadline.

“What the hell is this?”

“What the hell is what? You think I’m psychic or something?”

“I got your stupid bill, and if you think I’m paying for this—”

“Aw, Jackson, look at you supporting the working man. MSPI really appreciates your business. Keep patronizing indie businesses. Keep Beacon weird, and all that crap.”

“Look, I didn’t hire your lame detective service.”

“And yet you used our services all the same.”

“All you did was get kidnapped!”

“Okay, first of all, you were kidnapped too, and your wolfy ass would still be chained up in their gross vampire den if I wasn’t there to unlock us.” Stiles was twirling his finger through the air as he spoke, always proud to rile up Jackson with nothing but his words.

“And second of all, my ‘lame’ detective skills saw through your bullshit and identified the danger before you got your head out of your ass. If you had it your way, you and Ethan would have got  _ got _ without the rest of us even knowing.” Then he added as a second thought, “Plus, rescue mounted by Scott. You can read all about it and other ways you were satisfied with our service by reading your testimonial on the MSPI website.”

“Testimonial?”

“Yeah, Scott nearly cried when he read the nice things you wrote. It was heartfelt and beautiful—”

“And completely forged.”

“And full of maybe more than a few innuendos about your exact level of satisfaction.”

“What!”

“Pay your bill. We only accept American dollars. Have a nice day, dear.” And with that he hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end. Thank you so much, guys, for reading this. I really hope you enjoyed yourselves.
> 
> This is actually the first piece of writing I've completed in years. It really has been a journey, and I hope to continue onward and build my craft back up again.
> 
> This story may be finished, but I have more adventures for MSPI. The next story is partially written, so keep a look out for "The Case of the Shrunken Grump." Thanks!


End file.
